#No I was gnawing on my desk while writing it and i still tweak every time I read it

[amourtoken]

"pretty little gf bouncing on his dick like a bunny" as a fellow 4'11 girlie THIS LITTLE SENTENCE IS MAKING ME FERAL RAAHH mind immediately went to my man Luke (duh) and raging size kink went brrrrrrr

It's almost 12am and you have me tearing the carpet up with my teeth with those 10 words. Stick floppy ears on me and call me a puck bunny I'm hoppin' around this joint

HELP MEEEEE I'm 5'3" but that's still SUBSTANTIALLY smaller than Rempe or Lukey lol so the size kink is always on max no matter what I love feeling small lol

I feel like either of them would be so down to actually have you wear bunny ears though it's a cute cliche. I know for a FACT Luke would lose his fucking mind seeing you in some softie lacy lingerie and floppy bunny ears like he really gets to have you like that??? Size kink going crazy but you have to throw in a good side of breeding kinks with it especially with him 👀

[lucifers-favorite-pen]

Unfinished Lessons

Fandom: Obey me

Genre: Angst, so much angst

Pairings: Lucifer x Blair

Word Count: ~2.8k

Warnings: Mention of death, lots of sadness, lots of angst

I would just like to apologize in advance for any small errors in this writing. I literally could not to a thorough edit because reading it again made me so genuinely sad. Get a box of tissues. You have been warned.

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Context: Blair was taken from the HoL about a year ago, and was presumed dead. This broke everyone’s heart, but it broke her husband, Lucifer’s, the most. He didn’t know how to exist without her. He buried himself in his work, and in bottles, and wouldn’t let anyone console him. Not even Diavolo. When he finally was starting to learn how to be a person again, she shows back up, in chains due to trying to break into HoL, and has no recollection of him. Her once beautiful, warm black hair was a stark white, and her face looked like she had been modified slightly, like someone had tweaked the sliders in the character creation section of one of Leviathan’s RPGs. Either way, she wasn’t his wife. She was a poorly made copy of her sent here to torment him, to remind him of how he broke the vow he took to protect her when he married her.

Of course they kept her there, to interrogate her about Faerie and the people she was working for. Specifically why she was sent back to the Devildom in the first place. She was confused, and refused to believe she was who they were saying she was, and was extremely hostile.

Over the course of a month, she started to put some pieces together.

-Beel crying while pointing at a picture of him walking her down the aisle on her wedding day, begging her to believe him and to remember.

-Belphie showing her a video of their game of extreme chicken, pointing to Blair sitting triumphantly on Beel’s shoulders in knee and elbow pads as they both celebrated their victory.

-Asmo showing her her wedding dress, and gushing over how much he loved the way she looked and how well he did her hair and make up.

It was all too much evidence pointing to one conclusion. She felt a gnawing inside her chest everyday, like something was begging to be noticed, but she didn’t know what. She didn’t understand what she was feeling, sadness? Anxiety? Uncertainty? She had never felt anything but devotion and determination. How had she gone 25 years feeling only those two feelings?

She decided to go see Lucifer, the man who had been avoiding her like the plague. The man who was supposedly her husband while she was human. She had questions that she somehow knew only he could answer. She was determined to get to the bottom of this.

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It was pretty late, but she couldn’t sleep. Her brain was going a million miles a minute with everything she had learned in the past month, and she needed to speak with him. She shrugged on a cardigan and padded down to his room, hearing a soft classical strings melody from the inside. She knocked timidly twice.

Lucifer knew who it was. That was how she knocked on his door when she first came to the Devildom, and how she knocked on his door everyday after that. Old habits die hard, apparently.

He sighed, filling his wine glass, “Come in,”.

Blair poked her head in and looked at him, making sure it was ok to come in. He glanced up at her from his work, not being able to look at her more than that, and asked in monotone, “What could you possibly need from me at this hour?”.

She hesitantly steps into the room, recognizing the music as Chopin’s Piano Concerto in E minor, specifically the second movement. She didn’t know how she knew that, as she had never heard it before, but she shook it off.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she mutters as she slowly steps toward him. Lucifer couldn’t help but crack a small smile at that. Blair didn’t sleep well her first couple months in the Devildom either. She had trouble adjusting to a new space, it seems that trait didn’t die with her either.

“And what do you expect me to do about that? Belphegor is the Avatar of Sloth, go bother him,” he says harshly, trying to get her to leave.

Blair stands her ground, and holds her head a little higher, “I just had some questions,”.

“About what?” he snaps.

“You know what,” she retorts, just as harsh. If this was what it was going to take to get what she needed, then that was that. She tried to be gentle, seeing as his brothers warned her that he was a wreck, but she wasn’t going to let him bully her into leaving.

Lucifer sighs, dropping his pen on the page and rubbing his hands over his face. He looked exhausted. She noted the dark circles beginning to form under his eyes, and the messiness of his hair. She noticed how his shirt was wrinkled, the tie was crooked, and noted the slight tremor in his hand as he brought the glass of wine to his lips. He gestured his hand out to her, silently telling her to ask away.

She looked around the room a bit before asking. Honestly, she didn’t think she would make it this far, and didn’t even know where to begin. Though, her eyes catch on a large framed painting hanging above his bed. It depicted him in a pressed tuxedo and a tail coat, sitting in a red velvet chair. On his knee sat a woman, with warm black hair, and icy blue eyes. She wore a magnificent black dress that hugged every curve perfectly with a train so long it couldn’t fit in the painting. They both looked at each other with a look of adoration and passion she hadn’t seen before. The way her hand brushed his cheek, and the way his hand held that hand so tenderly. The way his other hand came to hold her chin, and the slight curvature of his lips. It all was… familiar? The scene made her chest hurt in a way she didn’t understand.

“Is that us?” she asks, smiling and pointing to the painting. Lucifer turns to look at it as well, leaning his face on his chin as he stared.

“No,” he says, not looking at her. Her eyebrows furrow together, and she shakes her head. “But-”

“That is my wife and I on our wedding day. I had that portrait commissioned so I could capture her like that for the rest of my days. However, she wouldn't agree to be painted unless I also was in the portrait. I’m glad she insisted, I rather like how it turned out,” he says, a longing in his tone he was too tired to mask as he stared at the painting.

“But I thought-”

“You are not her. You are a pathetic excuse of a copy of her. Your cheekbones are too pronounced, your chin is too pointy, your ears are pointy, your nose is too small, and your hair-” he cuts himself off to sigh and take another swig of his beverage. His words bite at her heart and she feels an unfamiliar pressure building behind her eyes. What was going on with her?

“It’s like they tried to perfect perfection,” he mutters to himself, dragging his eyes away from the portrait and back to his glass. He manages to meet her gaze, cutting more daggers into her soul with his crimson eyes. “My wife is dead. You are not her, and you will never be her. You are a husk of the woman she was sent to torment me. A punishment for my failure to her as a husband by my father, I’m sure” he spits at her. He pours himself another glass and takes a gulp of the liquid, still staring at her even though looking at her makes his heart break all over again. He watches her look at her feet and start to pick at her nails, a tell tale sign she was nervous. She still had all the little mannerisms he studied while he was falling in love with her. She still tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when she read. She still held pencils and pens wrong, and twirled them through her fingers while she was deep in thought. She still ate all the different types of food on her plate one at a time. This was her, but it just wasn’t. He would rather fall a thousand more times, than see her like this.

“I, um, I still had one more question,” she says quietly, barely looking up to meet his gaze. He groans loudly in response, and yells, “What?!”. She flinches at his tone, an action she doesn’t remember ever doing up until this moment. He instantly regrets it, but refuses to look like he does, or to apologize for it.

“I was wondering if you could tell me the name of a piano piece? I’ve been wracking my brain trying to remember the name, and your brothers said you were familiar with classical music. I thought I’d ask,” she says, her tone small as she tried not to anger him. He sighed and rested his chin in his hand.

“I will do my best,” he says.

She nods and mutters, “Thank you,” before turning to go sit at the piano. She begins pressing keys, and he knows by the fourth note that it’s the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. He doesn’t have the energy to stop her though, he lets her play, each note feeling like a lash on his heart.

She’s playing it well, but there’s no emotion. It’s like a robot was playing it, and he knew it was because she was incapable of feeling the emotions being conveyed in the piece. That fact stung more than he thought it would.

She got about two minutes into the piece before she stopped abruptly, taking her hands off the keys and placing them in her lap. “That’s all I know of it. I’ve never been taught how to play, I don’t even know how to read music, but I know how to play this, and I don’t know what it is. Any ideas?” she says, finally looking over at him. He had his eyes closed, and his chin was cradled in his hands. She felt an ache in her chest when she saw the shine of a single tear that had rolled down his face. He slowly opened his eyes and stared at a point in front of him that wasn’t her, before rubbing his face again and standing up from his desk. He moved silently over to a file cabinet against the wall and looked through it for a minute, before sliding out a thin book. Lucifer looked at it, and sighed quietly before moving over to the piano. Blair shifted to the side to make room for him on the bench, which he sat elegantly on as he flipped through the book. When he got to the page he needed, he set the book on the stand, took a deep breath to steady himself, and began playing.

Blair could tell he was playing the rest of the piece for her. She watched intently as his fingers glided expertly over the keys, and watched his face twist into a look of what can only be described as agony held back by sheer will power. His jaw was clenched and his eyebrows were knitted together, creating a dark storm in his eyes. He swore to himself he would never listen to this piece again. Not after what it meant to him. And here he was, playing it as if it didn’t make him feel like his chest was about explode.

He finished the piece, and heaved a great sigh of relief, the look washing away from his face and relaxing back into exhaustion. Lucifer stares at his hands for a second before saying, “The piece you were playing was the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. I just played you the rest of it,”.

He pauses briefly, still not looking at her, “The reason you can play it without knowing how to read music, is due to muscle memory. I was teaching Blair this piece, though I begged her to let me teach her something less mainstream, nevertheless she insisted on learning it, and she practiced it diligently,”. A small, sad smile crawls across his lips as he says that, but it’s gone as soon as it appears.

“You can’t play the last third of the piece because,” he pauses, taking a shaky breath to steady himself as he feels the familiar knot form in his throat and heat behind his eyes. Feelings he experienced for the first time the night he proposed to her. The thought felt like a punch to the gut.

“Because I was unable to finish teaching it to her before-” he cuts himself off. He clenches his fists and jaw, shutting his eyes. He felt like his chest was going to cave in at the memories of their lessons. The image of her having finished playing what he had assigned her to work on, and looking up at him with hopeful eyes seared its way into his memories. Another image of the cute, frustrated little quirk in her brow when her fingers just wouldn’t move the way she wanted them to stabbed like a dagger in his heart.

A quick clear of this throat and another deep breath brought him back to some stable ground. He looked over at Blair, to see her eyes already on him. They were wet, and brimming with tears. Finding out what she knows now solidified that the stories she had been told, the horror of what happened to her was all true. Here sat in front of her was her husband, yet she knew nothing of the love and adoration gifted to the woman in the painting. She felt the hot tears spill down her face at the gaping hole that was just ripped through her chest.

She felt robbed.

She felt robbed of the opportunity to be a wife, to be his wife. She felt robbed of the opportunity of love and to be loved as much as the people in the painting loved each other. She felt robbed of the possibility of building a family with him. She felt robbed of the memories, and the feelings, of everything. They took everything from her. She envied the woman in the portrait to the point of anger, and to know it was once her, and to know he will never look at her like that, only made her angry.

Lucifer, as if on instinct alone, caught one of the tears falling down her face with his finger, and tucked her hair behind her painfully unfamiliar pointed ear. He cupped her face in his hands and used his thumbs to wipe away the wetness gathering under her eyes as he looked into them for the first time since the last time he saw them.

They were the same.

The same eyes he looked into when he told her he loved her for the first time. The same pools of sky blue he could look into and feel at peace whenever he was stressed. The same eyes he stared into when they stood at an altar while he promised no harm would ever become of her.

The same eyes that held sheer terror as she screamed out for him while he was frozen in place by unfamiliar magic; helpless as he watched them carrying her kicking and screaming far away from him, never to see her again.

He was unable to hold back the tears streaming down his face as he stared into his wife’s perfect, baby blue orbs.

“At least, they kept your eyes, darling” he whispered.

As if also on instinct, she brought her hands to meet his and leaned closer up to his face, like she had done many times before in a past life. He also leaned closer, wanting to feel her lips on his, just one last time, but was unable to shake the gut wrenching feeling of someone else’s hands over his, and how her face no longer fit perfectly in his cupped hands.

“No,” he whispered painfully against her lips. He rips himself away from her and strides over to brace himself against a wall. She is left breathless and empty at his sudden absence, and looks over to him. She opens her mouth to apologize.

“Please leave,” is all he says with his back turned to her. She’s frozen, unable to move as a whirlwind of emotions takes over her ability to move. Everything in her body screamed at her to hold him, to tell him everything was going to be ok. Her heart begged her to cling to the body of this stranger who wanted nothing to do with her like it was the mast of a sinking ship.

“Please, Blair” he says, his voice cracking as he says her name to her for the first time since she’s been there. This was enough to bring her out of it. She stands up and walks quickly towards the door. As she opens it, she looks back at him one last time, able to see the side of his face now. His jaw is set, his mouth is set in a straight line, but rivers of tears fall from his eyes and on to the floor beneath him. She turns, and exists through the door, shutting it softly behind her.

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Bonus Text Thread!

Blair: I want to fix this. I’m going to talk to Solomon and Satan tomorrow and gather all of the resources regarding Fae magic the Devildom has. If that isn’t enough, we’ll search the other realms as well. But I can’t do this without you, I need your help.

Blair: Please Lucifer, help me take back what they stole from me. From you. From us. Please.

Lucifer: What do you think I’ve been doing for the passed two years? We’ve exhausted all of our resources and then some trying to get you back. Even after you died, Barbatos and I tried for months after I felt our pact snap to try to get into Faerie to bring your body home. There is no hope for us, Blair. I’m sorry, go to sleep.

Blair: There has to be a way! The magic that was used to create me was said to be impossible, but here I am! None of you are familiar with Fae magic, I am. I haven’t had a chance to look over any materials, or try any spells on myself! Look, you can sit there and drink yourself into a stupor, mourning your dead wife for the rest of eternity if you really want to. I am going to do whatever it takes to get my fucking life back, and I’ll do it with or without you. So you can either help me move the process along, or you can stand idly by and suffer some more. It’s your choice.  

Lucifer: ...There might be something. It’s a long shot, but it’s something. Meet me in the royal library tomorrow at 5:00. Bring Satan, and Solomon.

Lucifer: Thank you, Blair.

Masterpost